


where do you go when home is a person who isn't here anymore? (spider-man: homeless)

by softdadironman



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Far From Home, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A little, Angst, Blood and Injury, Cancer, Domestic Avengers, Drama, Endgame fix it, Family, Family Feels, Feels, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Hurt, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/No Comfort, Ironfamily, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, SPIDERMAN SPOILERS!!!!!, Team as Family, Teen Angst, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, spiderman ffh fix it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 23:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19756342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softdadironman/pseuds/softdadironman
Summary: SPIDER-MAN FAR FROM HOME SPOILERSAfter Mysterio revealed Spider-Man's secret identity, the city of New York turned against him. With his friends and family in witness protection, he is left on the streets to survive and clear his name. Things aren't so bad, though. After all, he has his dead mentor's ghost to keep him company.





	where do you go when home is a person who isn't here anymore? (spider-man: homeless)

**Author's Note:**

> i promise this fic isn't what u think it is!!!! give it a chance <3

With a loud ringing in his ear and frost chewing on his toes through his seated suit, Peter thought to himself  _ I really should be used to this by now.  _

His vision blurs, and somehow he finds his way through the water, he latches on to the metal claws reaching for him. He grabs on in hopes to find his attacker, but instead feels another claw coming from behind him. He swims, but there’s nowhere to go. His chest burns, and he kicks until he finds what feels like flesh. 

The claws retract, and he swims to the surface. As soon as his head pops above the water, he tries to inhale as much breath as he can. He brings his mask just above his lips and nose, but it’s not much help. 

Without even a second to catch his breath, he aims for a bridge with his webshooters. He gags as he frantically searches for any sign of his attacker. 

It started as a normal day. His Peter Tingles are still getting back into the swing (heh, swing) and were a little late in warning Peter of the oncoming eight armed man. After some tumbling and a quick dip in the water, he finds himself swinging through the city to try and catch up with him. 

“I just want to talk!” he yelled, chasing after the destruction he leaves in his path. Picking up the speed, he shoots a web at opposite buildings and propels himself forward. He flies through the air before landing on his head. He quickly starts beating the claws off of him, but it’s not long before his Spidey Senses yell for him to move. He backflips off onto the side of a building. “Who are you?” 

“Stay out of my way.” Once again, the villain was moving to get away from him, but Peter wasn’t planning on letting him get very far. 

He engaged him again, and his Spidey Senses began to yell again. He went to dodge the octopus arms but instead found himself dodging bullets. 

“NYPD! Get on the ground!” an officer yelled, crouched behind her police car door. 

A metal claw wrapped around Peter’s foot and pulled him to where he was hanging upside down. Another officer shot at him, and he used momentum to swing himself to the side. 

“Oh, sure, sure, shoot at me, not the evil 8-armed man,” he sighed, beating his hand against the claw. “Hey, hey, cop lady! Wrong target!” He pointed at the deranged monster trying to bash Peter into the wall. 

He beat the claw, and it shattered into pieces. He fell out of the hold and was soon dodging another arm when a bullet flew past him. 

Doctor Oct continued to run, knocking a fire escape in the process. A young girl, somewhere around Peter’s age, started screaming as she clung to the bars. Peter shot a web and scooped her up to put her on lower ground. 

“Put the civilian down!” the cop’s partner ordered, raising his gun. 

“I’m not the bad guy,” Peter defended, carefully setting down the shaking girl. 

“Sorry, Spider-Man,” the cop apologized, not sounding at all empathetic. “We’re under direct orders to shoot on sight.” 

Peter didn’t wait for her to shoot again. He was already aiming at a nearby building when he felt a net topple over him. 

“What the hell?” he cursed, confused as to why his Spidey Sense wasn’t working as he was electrocuted. 

“Hah, nice one, Locke,” one cop praised. “Got him.” 

Peter continued convulsing. Droney separated from his suit to cut through the net. 

Panting, Peter raised a shaky hand to shoot himself to a high perch. 

Doctor Oct was nowhere in sight. Gone, just like that. 

With a hand on his side, Peter swung through the city. 

He found himself perching on the side of Avengers Tower, which wasn’t really Avengers Tower anymore. Tony had sold it before moving into the compound, but Peter still liked to perch on it from time to time again. It reminded him of when things were simple. 

Wincing, Peter slowly peeled back his suit to examine a graze along his side. “Oh, that’s cute,” he cooed, peeling back the bloody fabric. “Real cute.” He shoots his backpack, fishes through it to find some peroxide. 

With closed eyes, he gently pours the liquid on the graze. He bites his lip to keep himself from crying out, but it’s not enough. He drops the bottle and bites down on his hand. 

After what feels like hours, the burning finally subsides a small bit, and Peter’s eyes flutter open. He slowly unclenches his teeth and brings his now-bloody hand out of his mouth. He sighed and looked to the peroxide. “Karen, will that get infected?” 

“There’s an 89.7% chance of infection. I highly recommend a hospital,” Karen replied. 

Peter actually laughed out loud at that. “A hospital, really.” He cringes and puts a hand over his side. “Laughing hurts, oh, fuck… And, no, Karen, hospitals are out of the question. You know that.” 

“Peter, two of your ribs--” 

“They’ll be fine by tomorrow,” Peter said, biting off a piece of bandage as he finishes wrapping his hand. 

“Peter--” 

“Bye, Karen,” Peter said, and she powered down. Peter finished up his sad attempt at healing himself and slipped his backpack on. 

He swings through the city before stealthily stopping in a tree outside his home. 

Well, er, old home. He doesn’t have a home anymore. 

It’s easy to forget about it sometimes. 

The house is empty now. Well, it’s barely even standing to tell the truth. 

After the protestors got ahold of it… There wasn’t much left. 

He’s just glad May got out of there alive. 

May said the same thing about Peter, but he knows how much the loss of the house affected her. Living with Happy across the state probably wasn’t a nice change. (Peter wasn’t too fond of that either.)

Ever since he got outed by Mysterio, his life has been in shambles. Pepper does what she can, but New York’s pretty sold on hating Spider-Man. 

He made May claim to having no idea about her son’s identity, but the press still gives her hell. 

Peter hopes the day a villain attacks her will never come. 

But with his luck? It just might. 

To tell the truth, Peter misses her. He misses his school, he misses his girlfriend, his friends. Ned and MJ weren’t happy about the relocation, either, but at least they didn’t have to move in with their boyfriend of just a couple months. (Peter’s not sure living in Witness Protection is much better.) 

He hates the idea of them there, but it might just be the best. 

  
  


May is sitting in a park. She’s collapsed on a bench, obviously exhausted, on an even more exhausted looking Happy. Her finger traces a circle on Happy’s leg. 

Peter lands almost silently, but May is already sitting up. “Peter?” she calls out. 

“May, it’s not…” Happy trailed off, going still as he spots him across the garden. “Peter. It’s… It’s you.” 

May runs off the bench to engulf him in a hug. “Where have you been?” Even without super strength, she squeezes the life out of him. The bullet wounds on his body yell, but he only lets out a hiss. She lets go and grabs the sides of his face. “Peter, what happened?” 

“I need you to go into Witness Protection.” His voice was hoarse, and it cracked at the end. It was an even wonder he was even able to get the sentence out.

“No. No, I’m not leaving you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s not happening. I, I…” Happy put a hand on her shoulder. “No, Hap, I, I can’t. I’m not leaving him. No…!” 

“May, please, listen,” he said, voice breaking off. “It’s not safe.”

_ Be strong. Don’t let her see you break down.  _

“Peter, you have to come with me. I’ll go if you go too.” 

Peter bit his lip. “This city needs Spider-Man,” he said. 

“This city is trying to  _ kill  _ you, Peter. It’s going to kill you.” 

“May, please, it’s not forever. We’ll fix it, okay? I promise.” The lie came across so easy. “Then you can come back, but you can’t be here. It’s not safe.” 

“It’s not safe for you either!” May yelled back, cradling her head. 

Peter looked to Happy for help. “Please…” 

“May, just for a little while,” he started, but she wasn’t having it. 

“Peter, I can’t leave you all alone,” she said, lip quivering. “If something happens…” 

“It won’t,” he promised, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Peter’s glad he got out of there when he could because he’s not so sure how long he could stand there without crying. 

_ A Week Later _

“Have you had any contact with her?” 

He can’t help but ask. 

Happy is solemn when he answers. “No, that’s the thing about Witness Protection.” Regretting his sarcastic tone, he settles. “But, from what I’ve heard, she’s good. Probably misses you like crazy.” 

Peter laughed a humorless snort. “Yeah, I bet,” he said, moving some of the too long hair out of his face. The wind was really making it hard for him to have a one on one with Happy. 

“Take some food for the road. Will you?” he asked, looking him up and down. “When’s the last time you slept in a warm bed?” 

“I’m okay, Happy,” he said, but Happy was already pulling out a new backpack full of food and supplies. 

“I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer. Sleep here for the night.” 

Peter smiled. “I can’t, Happy.” Happy shoved the backpack into his hands. 

“I need you to stay in contact with me. If we get a breakthrough with the police, you’re coming home that day.” 

“Okay, okay, Happy,” Peter said, putting his hands up. “I promise.” 

Happy dropped his shoulders. “If you nap here, just for a little--” 

Peter was already running off, about to shoot a web at a building. “Thank you for the snacks, Hap!” 

Peter perched himself in his favorite tree in Central Park. Sometimes he’d stay here until the police shoot at him, then he’d resort to an alleyway or some abandoned place. 

But he really loved it here. He used to come here with MJ on walks. 

It’s relaxing. 

So, he sits up in his tree and unzips his backpack. It’s cold out tonight, and his tattered suit doesn’t provide much warmth. He throws the blanket over his shoulders and cuddles into it. 

Next, he fishes through the bag for his dinner (is it still called dinner if it’s his first meal of the day? Or, week, for that matter?) and pulls out a can of green beans. 

“Oh, it’s all healthy shit.” He tilts his head back and rummages through for a little debbie. “Damn.” 

He can picture Happy’s shit-eating grin. 

Healthy food is better than no food, or at least that’s what Peter’s gaping stomach decides. He pries open a tupperware container with steak inside of it. He doesn’t even care about the mashed potatoes, which he was never fond of. He licks the container clean anyways. 

He leans back in the tree, trying not to care about how uncomfortable it is. 

For a second, he’s full. May’s okay. He’s okay; he’s fed. Actual, real food. Home Cooked food. 

Then he pukes. 

He pukes so hard he almost falls out of the tree. Thank God for his sticky fingers or he would be total toast. 

So, yeah, that was nice while it lasted. Turns out, eating a steak dinner after not eating for days makes one feel a little ill. 

Peter doesn’t have the energy to care. 

Mad, tired, and drained, Peter closes his eyes. 

  
  


When he wakes up, there’s yelling. 

His Spidey Sense is blaring, and Peter, not at all awake and functional, is on the run. He barely remembers to grab his bag before running for the city. 

Damn police force, always giving him a hard time. Would it really be a crime to let him sleep in on a Sunday? 

Peter used to  _ hate  _ waking up to the alarm in his phone, but he’d take it over bullets any day. Man, he didn’t know how good he really had it back in his old home. 

What he wouldn’t give to go back… to have Tony back, to have his home back, his school life. 

He’s sixteen now and living on the streets. His mentor’s dead, any contact with May would probably get her killed, and the entire city of New York is trying to kill him. 

Now that he doesn’t have school, he spends most of his time patrolling. He goes to a lot of shelters when the city is quiet to help when he can and until the police get mad at him. 

Peter’s perched up on a building when his scanner starts going off. “A fire is reported 368 meters away from your current position,” Karen said, and Peter was already swinging towards the point on his map. 

The fire department had yet to arrive, and the wooden building (why were those even still around anymore?) was in shambles already. People were pooling around the street of the small motel. He swung by, dropping next to the staff. “Life forms detected on the top floor,” Karen said. 

Peter scanned for the body signatures and crawled in through a window. The entire building was empty except for the Far East corner. He ducked under debris and slid under a fallen pillar. Across the missing floor stood a father with a baby girl in his arms. “Spiderman,” the father grimaced, backing away. The little girl at his side didn’t back away, however. She reached for him. 

“Spidew-Man!” she yelled, cupping her hands. She coughed weakly. “Help us!” 

“It’s going to be okay,” he said, stepping forward with his arms out. He looked up to the wobbly ceiling and jumped to the platform with the small family on it. Literally holding a burning piece of wood with his hands, he grunted out, “Run!” 

The father, continuing to hold the baby in his arms, inched backwards, stumbling on the falling floor. His foot poked through the board, and he fell to his knee. “Dad!” the girl yelled, helping her dad and baby sister up. “Come on, we have to go!” 

“I got you,” Peter said, carefully taking off one hand to hold it out to the girl. “Come on.” 

“Yuri, don’t go near him,” the man barked, grabbing her elbow. He pulled on his foot, but it was stuck through the floor. 

Yuri tried to help him out, but she was only a little girl. Peter grunted, throwing the piece of ceiling down onto the floor. On unsteady feet, he inched towards the three. “My daddy’s stuck,” Yuri said, yanking with all her strength. The floorboards creaked again, and Peter knew it didn’t have long. 

“Sir, take my hand,” he said, holding it out to him. 

The man spit at him. “Murderer,” he growled, and the floor fell through. Cradling his baby girl, he fell a couple feet until landing on his back. During the scuffle, Peter grabbed Yuri’s hand and pulled her on his side. As they fell, he went to shoot a web at the man, but it was too late. He crashes into the ground with the sobbing infant on his belly. 

“Dad!” Yuri screams, but Peter doesn’t let her down. He scoops up the unmoving corpse and the two kids and races out of the building. 

“He needs help!” he yelled, letting the EMTs run towards him. With them, a police officer accompanies. 

“Let them go, Spiderman,” she orders, holding out her gun. “He’s got a hostage.” 

“No! He saved me,” Yuri yells. “Please, don’t shoot him.” 

Peter was already lowering her to the ground. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Yuri.” 

The six year old clung to him. “No, no, he saved me! Please, please, please!” 

“He’s a bad, bad man,” the officer reasoned, kneeling down. “Come here, sweetheart.” 

Her feet touched the ground, and she wrapped him in a hug. “He’s not a bad guy! He’s not, he’s not, he’s not.” 

“It’s okay,” he said, prying her off him. “Go with the nice officer and find your mother, okay?” 

“I’m gonna become a police woman!” she declared, hitting her chest and glaring at the officers. “And I’m gonna help him!” Peter’s heart melted. “Thank you, Spidew-Man.” 

He steps away from her, and the second he does, he’s shot in the calf. His Spidey Sense had warned him, but there wasn’t much he could do to escape the snipers aimed on him. He’s just lucky he was able to keep his head and torso safe. 

He shoots a web and yanks the gun out of the officer’s hand. Panting, “That man… If he dies, it’s on you.” 

He swings away with a guilty mind. 

This type of stuff didn’t happen before. 

Completely lost with nowhere to go, Peter went to his last resort. 

He landed on the rooftop. The door could’ve worked too, but it’s safer up here. 

Or, so he thought. 

Peter sighs, sitting on the edge of the building. He lets his feet dangle off the edge. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.” 

Peter didn’t bother getting up. He didn’t have the energy anymore. “How’s being Captain America?” 

Sam Wilson’s heavy footsteps stopped a few feet behind Peter. His Spidey Senses were silent. “How’s being a super villain?” 

Peter laughed. “Oh no, you too?” At that, he lifted his mask off and looked over his shoulder. 

Sam, disgusted, looked away. “I can’t get over the fact you’re a damn child,” he said, moving to sit next to him. “I’m supposed to bring you in.” 

Peter wish he kept his mask on to cover his wet eyes. “You won’t, will you?” He set his puppy dog eyes on Sam, who shifted uncomfortably beside him. 

“You know I have a soft spot for troubled teens,” he grumbled. 

“I’m not troubled,” Peter said, cocking his head. 

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You’re a fifteen year old fugitive.” 

“Uh, actually, sixteen now,” he said, grinning. “I had my birthday a couple weeks ago.” 

Sam’s face dropped. “Fuck, kid… I…” 

“It’s okay, Mr. Wilson,” he assured him. “But I’ll gladly take a late birthday present.” 

Sam didn’t laugh. Then again, he didn’t laugh at most of Peter’s jokes. “What do you want? A cake?” 

“Nah,” he said, picking up his right leg. “I got shot in the calf.” He peeled back the torn fabric. “Can you help me?” 

“You need a hospital,” he said, scrambling. He went to pick Peter up, but he pushed him away. 

“They’ll arrest me if I go.” Peter was barely audible with how quiet he was speaking. “I can’t. Is there anything here I can use?” 

“I can get Bruce,” he said, sounding hopeful. “Yeah, yeah, Bruce will know what to do…” He scrambled off the side. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?” 

“‘Kay,” he said, cradling his shot leg as soon as Sam had walked away. 

When the door’s open again, he’s being lifted off the ground. “Damn Spidey Sense,” he grumbled as he was laid down on a gurney. 

“It only works on threats.” Bucky Barnes was now pushing Peter with a metal hand pressed down on his chest. 

Bruce was there too in his giant hulk form. “I’m not that type of doctor,” he grumbled. “You think I can do surgery with these hands?” 

“Well, a hospital is out of the question!” Sam yelled back. Another set of doors opened, and Peter was pushed into an Operating Room, a makeshift one at that. 

Peter tried to sit up, but Bucky was pushing down on his chest. “Stay still, kid.” 

“Sergeant Barnes, you can’t call anyone,” he said, grabbing his hand with his superhuman strength. Just like when they first met at Civil War, Bucky was first shocked at the pure strength, but his surprise faded quickly. With begging eyes, Peter pulled him closer. “They’ll kill me.” 

Bucky shook it off. “Get the damn bullet out of this kid’s leg,” he barked. “Get whatever damn nurse you have to in here.” 

“He needs a hospital,” Bruce said again. “You’re going to kill him.” 

“Hey, hey, it’s just a lil’ bullet in the leg. Just fish it out and let’s go.” 

The door opened again. “What’s the ruckus?” Scott Lang asked, stepping inside. “Oh, Spidey, hey! Aren’t you a bad guy now?” 

“That is the popular opinion at the moment,” Peter said, sitting up. 

“What brings you here?” he asked, looking around at the other three standing around. “What’s that smell in here? Is someone cooking?” 

Bruce, Sam, and Bucky exchanged looks. They looked to Peter. “I got shot in the leg,” he replied. “Oh, and I think I got burnt a little bit.” 

“You need to elevate it,” Bruce said, picking up a pillow and propping his foot on it. “And take him to a hospital.” 

“No hospital,” Peter said. 

“You’ll die without one,” Bucky reasoned. 

“Yeah, well, I’ll die in one,” he said, throwing himself off the table. “I thought you guys could help me, but if not, I’ll be on my way.” 

“Sit your ass back down!” Bucky barked, moving to grab him, but Peter was already on the ceiling and crawling on his hands and single, functional leg to escape. 

Peter was a lot faster than the others even with a bloody leg and burnt hands. Thank God for webs. And thank God Sam wasn’t the fastest runner. 

Still, flying suits made running away a little hard for him. On the rooftop, just as he’d jumped off, he was caught by the collar. “Let me go, Falcon.” 

“Peter, just wait a second. We can help. Let us bring you to the police, and we can sort this out…” 

Peter swiftly kicked him in the chest. “Bye, Captain America!” he said, falling off the building. “See y’all!” 

He got away with a tiny little scalpel. It wasn’t his tool of choice, but it’d have to do. 

“Karen, is there a wikihow tutorial for removing bullets out of your leg?” he asked, laughing a little as he pulled off the sock. He rolled up his pant leg, seething at the friction. He inched closer to the river bank to pour some (hopefully) clean water over the wound. 

He dipped his leg into the cold water and couldn’t keep in the grunt of pain. “Oh, fuck,” he seethed, covering his mouth. He squeezed the top of his leg to ease the pain. He brought his knee out of the water and started cleaning the scalpel. 

“NYPD!” 

Peter was up in a tree with his belongings in a matter of moments. “Can you guys leave a spider alone for two seconds?”

“Wait! Wait, I won’t hurt you,” the officer said, putting up her gun in her holster. “I promise.” 

“I can’t take any chances.” 

She put her hands up. “Please, my name is Alicia. Officer Jones? We’ve met before. You saved my life.” 

Peter dropped out of the tree. “I’ve met quite a few Officer Jones. It’s a very popular last name, you know.” Seeing her face, he stopped. “From Hell’s Kitchen. What’re you doing upstate?” 

“Hunting a man named Doctor Octavious,” she replied, holding out a file to him. Peter cautiously accepted it and started slipping through it. “Everyone thinks he’s a good guy, but they also think you’re a bad guy, so…” 

Peter snorted. “I’ve met him. That costume  _ screams  _ bad guy energy.” 

“Yeah, he… Spider-Man, is your leg okay?” 

“Got shot,” he replied, shrugging. “You good at taking bullets out?” 

“No,” she said, turning on her car. “Have a seat.” 

Peter did as he was told. The officer leaned into her car and pulled out a first aid kit. “This might burn a bit,” she said before dumping some burning liquid on his leg. He cringed but did his best to stay stoic. 

The officer then slipped on a glove and just started digging around for it. It feels just as good as you might expect it to. 

“Is it out?” he asked, not able to look. 

“Almost,” she grunted through gritted teeth. “Aha, gotcha.” She fishes out the last part. 

“Thanks,” he said, watching her pull out a sewing kit. While she’s moving, though, he spots the vial bulging out of her pocket. 

He watches her with a careful eye. Her phone is buzzing from inside her pocket, but she doesn’t even move to pick it up. 

As she finishes closing up the wound, Peter’s Spidey Sense warns him of whatever’s waiting for him in the bushes. He jumps up, snatching the needle and his bag, and hops in the tree. “Officer Jones, that hurts. That really hurts.” 

Gun drawn, she glares at him. “It’s my job, Spider-Man.” 

“Well, thanks for the stitches!” he said, and that was that. He was out of there. 

He can’t be too upset about it because at least his leg isn’t bleeding out. It still stings like a bitch, of course, but at least the cop seemed to know what she was doing (even though he’s pretty sure they trained her on how to do that before sending her in. 

He should’ve known it was a set up. Who would’ve known they’d be smart enough to send in someone Peter had actually saved?

Cradling his leg, Peter slips back on his sock. He’ll have to repair his suit when he can, but it’s not safe for him to visit Happy anytime soon. 

He can try sneaking back into the Avengers facility, but there’s not much he can do there, not with the city breathing down his neck like that. 

He’s taking in the noises of the city. Cars honking, people talking -- the usual New York sounds. He can’t sleep without it. 

He’d take the chaotic noises over the deafening silence any day. 

Contributing to the chaos of the city, an alarm goes off. Well enough the man of the hour was robbing a bank. How cliche. 

Classic New York. 

He and his poorly stitched up leg land after a 100 foot freefall. 

Doctor Octavious has his claw wrapped around a teller’s neck. “Put him down,” he ordered, swinging into the scene, making sure to keep the weight off his leg. 

“Spider-Man!” he barked in surprise, throwing the man against the wall. Peter ran to help him to his feet, but the man was running away from him. The teller safely ran out of the bank at least. “What an unwelcome surprise.” 

“Likewise,” he said. “You think I like having to stop you all the time?”

Peter shot a web at the chandelier above his head and yanked it down. Oct screamed, but he was only down for a moment. “Then don’t.” 

Peter, making sure not to show any obvious weakness, dodged Octavious’s scrambling to get back on his feet -- er, claws. 

Peter jumped to the ceiling to avoid his claw going straight through the wall. His foot hit the wall uncomfortably, and a tremor of pain shot through him. 

All of a sudden, Peter’s head was swimming. His vision was darkening, and waves of pain took over him. He scrambled to get away, to stabilize himself, but the darkness was overpowering. He staggered on his feet, but the black enveloped his sight. 

  
  


When Peter woke up, he was screaming. His eyes fluttered open in a hurry, and his instinct was to move, but he had nowhere to go. The restraints wrapped around him kept him from doing so. 

Doctor Octavious was seated at his feet with a black device pressed to the ball of his foot. “You’re awake,” he noted, looking up through his red goggles. “Good.” 

“Nice to see you too, Doc,” he said, faking a yawn. He looked around at the too light room and cringed. Fuck, his head was killing him. 

“I’ve finally bested you,” he said gleefully. He uncapped a syringe and tried to pull the sleeve of his arm up, but he used his sticky ability to cling to it. 

“Sorry, but it doesn’t count,” Peter said, shrugging. “I passed out, so… That’s cheating on your part.” 

“Silence!” he screamed, driving his claw into the table and knocking off the tools. “Your voice drives me mad.” 

“Someone’s a sore loser,” he sang. 

Doc Oct, in anger, wrapped a claw around his neck. Peter rasped, already seeing black spots again. He tried to breathe but the metal was pressing too tightly for him to. 

As if he’d had enough, he let go of his grip. Peter took the opportunity to catch his breath. His chest rose rapidly up and down as he struggled to catch his breath. 

_ Breathe, Peter. Don’t hyperventilate. Breathe in. Breathe out.  _

Right. Just how Tony taught him. He knows how to deal with the attacks. He knows enough by now. 

So Peter does, just like his mentor told him to. He breathes in, holds, and exhales deeply. It’s almost working until he feels another zap on his other foot. 

He yells in pain and tilts his head back. Arching away from the table, he tries his best to escape his wrath. 

“Let me see your arm now,” he ordered, but Peter wouldn’t give in. “Okay, unsterilized it is.” Doctor Octavious takes a syringe and stabs it through his fabric. Peter cringes at the pinching in his arm. “Damn. I missed.” He didn’t really sound too upset about it. He kept at it until he happened upon a good spot. The syringe filled with his blood, and he moved to insert it into a vial. “Good. Good.” 

Peter coughed weakly. An ache took over his body, and he’d give anything for backup. 

The fact that he has no one to realize he’s gone. May’s not gonna worry when he doesn’t show up for dinner, Happy nor Tony will notice his tracker’s gone offline, the Avengers won’t notice he’s dying in the middle of nowhere. 

He’s going to die like this. 

At least Tony didn’t die alone. 

He wonders if he felt like this, too. Then, he hits himself because he’s overreacting. 

He’s Spider-Man, and he’s not going to die here. He can’t. 

“You got any oranges?” he asked, cocking his head lazily to the side. “Or cookies? Apple juice, maybe?” The doctor was silent as he examined the blood. “Bitch, you just took my blood, at least give me a juice box.” 

“The more you talk, the more tempting you make it to cut out your tongue,” he calls, watching numbers pop up on his screen. 

Peter’s not having it. He writhes against the restraints, trying his best to aim his webs at the ceiling. 

While he’s distracted, Peter cautiously tries to web a box and send it into the window. 

It’s Otto’s fault for building a lab at the bottom of the ocean. 

“I’m entitled to a juice box.” Peter really was only talking by means to not cause any suspicion, but the more he talked, the more he wanted a juice box. It really had been a while since he’d had a meal he’d been able to keep down. 

“Silence!” 

“Karen, acidic webs,” he whispered. As she made the switch, Peter dissolved the restraint wrapped around his wrist. With his wrist free, he ripped his other arm free, then his torso, then his legs. He switched the webs back to normal before grabbing a barrel and tossing it against the glass. 

The loud bang startles Octavious, who is angrily stalking his way towards Peter. 

The window cracks, but it’s not enough. “Parker,” he growls, grabbing a drill and inching towards him. 

Peter is too busy trying to get the window cracked further, and his adrenaline is rushing so quickly he momentarily forgets the pain in his leg, and he topples over. The dizziness is killing him, and it’s so hard to breathe, and his body feels as if it’s on fire. His Spidey Sense screams, and it’s there, he knows he’s about to get hurt, but there’s nothing he can do to escape it. 

He sees the train coming to run him over, but he doesn’t have the energy to move off the track. 

A drill enters his back, and he convulses. At that moment, as untimely as ever, the glass finally cracks deep enough for a steady water flow to begin. 

“You fool!” he roars. Forgetting Peter, he does what he can to save his lab. 

“It’s up, Octavious,” he said, coughing as he staggered to his feet. “Whatever… your plan is. It’s done.” He feels something dribble out of his mouth, but he can’t tell what it is through the mask. “That’s nasty. Eugh.” 

The water level starts to raise. Peter is struggling to stay alive and not pass out and drown underwater while Octavious is trying his damndest to save whatever he can. 

The water’s filling up too quickly. 

This was a mistake. 

Taking in a deep breath, Peter tries to swim out. The pressure is changing too quickly, but he does what he can to make it to the surface, which he is longways away from. Karen talks him through it, and as he is a couple meters away, a floatation device pops from his suit and takes him the rest of the way. 

It’s slower than his swimming, which he can’t do much of in his barely conscious state. As soon as he reaches the surface, he rips his mask off to greedily take in air. His eyebrows furrowed together in confusion as whatever he coughed up dribbles out of his mouth. 

He makes his way towards the sand and drags himself on it. Cringing at the burning pain in his back, he rolls over on his stomach. “Oh, fuck…” he trailed off, biting down on his lip. 

A coughing fit takes over him, and it takes everything he has not to pass out again. 

“Passing out is not an option, Peter,” he hums, squeezing his eyes shut. “You wanna get kidnapped again?” 

_ “Kidnapping might be your best option.”  _

And there he was again. Tony Stark, still giving sound advice from beyond the grave. “Oh yeah?” Peter says, cringing as the short laughter makes the pain spread throughout his chest. “Oh, if he saw me now… Pathetic.” 

Peter had to put a hand over his eyes to cover the tears threatening to leak out. “I’m going to die here.” 

_ “They’re already on their way, kid. You’re not dying.”  _

Peter dropped his hand and slowly maneuvered himself on his knees. 

It… It couldn’t be. 

What he thought was an inner voice was embodied next to him. Here, on the beach. 

The sun has just started to rise. Morning. Rays of sunlight shine upon the beach, upon the unbloodied face of Tony Stark. Of a hopeful Tony Stark. 

Tony Stark died. 

He’s not here, and he’s not on any damn beach. This is a nightmare. Peter passed out again. He’s still in Doctor Octavious’s lab. 

“Kid, just hang on.” 

“You’re not here,” Peter said, laughing a little. “Did I die already? Oh, man…” 

“No, you’re not dying anytime soon,” Tony said, moving to sit next to him on the beach. He put a hand against the hole in his back. “Damn, they’re really falling apart without me, aren’t they? It’s taking them this long to rescue you.” 

Peter laughed humorlessly. “No one’s coming. Maybe the cops, though. Maybe I’ll get shot again!” 

“I’m here,” Tony said, putting an arm around Peter. “I’m not going anywhere, Peter…” 

“Except you’re not here,” Peter said, not bothering to lean away from the touch. “You died, Mr. Stark. You left us.” 

“I’d never leave you, kid,” Tony said, holding him close. 

Peter knew he wasn’t there. He was hallucinating. 

But he didn’t care. He leaned into the warmth of his dead mentor and closed his eyes. Tears streaming down his face, he buries his face into his shoulder. He grabs tightly on the back of his expensive suit and holds with such a grip he rips the fabric -- not that it matters though since he’s dead and this is all just a dream. 

Peter, dazed off the pain and the hunger clawing in his stomach, passes out in his mentor’s hold. 

“Oh, poor kid…” 

Sam Wilson has just landed on the beach. Pressing a finger to the comm in his ear, he kneels down next to the poor boy, who is clinging hopelessly to the sand. “Found Parker. He’s in bad shape.” 

Sam carefully scooped him into his arms and didn’t waste any time flying back home. 

  
  


When Peter awoke, there was a restraint across his chest. He bucked against it because, no, no, no, he knew it, he knew Tony wasn’t there, he knew he was just dreaming under his hold. His chest hitches, and he suffocates as he tries to climb out of the bed. 

Bed. A soft bed. He’s no longer in a lab under the ocean and in a room painted soft colors. He settles, but his heart still races. 

“You’re awake,” a voice says, and Peter anxiously looks over his shoulder to see Bucky pressed against the doorframe. “You’re an idiot.” 

Peter managed a weak laugh before breaking off into a coughing fit. Unable to cover his cough due to being bound to the bed, blood spills out of his mouth freely. “Ouch,” he says, watching it coat the white blanket. “That’s going to stain.” 

“Get the doctor back in here!” Bucky orders, running to his side. He uncaps a water and presses it to his chapped lips. Peter drinks before coughing weakly. “You’re more of an idiot than I thought.” 

“If you hate me so much, why didn’t you leave me be?” he asked, wheezing slightly. 

“You remind me of someone I know,” Bucky said, resting his hand on top Peter’s chest. “You’re almost as stupid as he was.” 

“Stop tormenting my patient,” a new voice huffed, and Doctor Strange walked into the room. “Peter, how are you feeling?” 

“Great,” he replied, grinning. “I’d feel better if I weren’t chained up.” 

As the doctor checked over his vitals on the screen, Bruce peeked a head in. “Sorry about that,” he apologized meekly. “We can’t have you running away again.”

“Stick around,” Sam said, joining his side. 

“Was that a pun?” Peter asked, smirking. 

Doctor Strange huffed a disappointed sound. “Deep breath.” Peter did as told, and Doctor Strange cleaned off an area on his arm and inserted a syringe. Peter cringed as the liquid burned. “Deep breaths.” 

“You look like shit,” he said, pulling back. “New York hasn’t been kind?” 

Peter snorted. “No.” 

The Doctor tsked as he checked him over. “You’re a good man, Peter. You deserve better than this.” 

“Yeah, well, so did I.” 

Peter snaps his head to see Tony at the windowsill. He’s slumped in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. Peter gapes. 

He shouldn’t be here. He’s awake now. 

Unless… he’s not. He’s still asleep. 

The tight band around his head grows tighter. 

“Whoa, breathe for me,” Strange says, helping him up. Opening the restraints, he puts a steady hand against his back. Comforting isn’t his thing, but neither is it anyone else’s. “Breathe. There you go.” 

“You’re okay,” Sam cooes. “You’re safe here.” 

“I…” Peter trailed off, looking at Tony. 

He was right there, and no one else could see him. 

Was he crazy? Dead? Delusional? 

Maybe a little bit of each. 

“Breathe,” the Doctor repeated. 

“It’s not working,” Sam huffed. “Stop telling him to ‘breathe.’” Strange glared at him and continued repeating the same word for him. 

Peter couldn’t look away from Tony. 

“I heard the kid’s here,” Rhodey said, storming into the room. “What are you guys doing?” Disgusted, he pushes past the people in the room and sits next to his bed. “Peter, look at me.” When Peter doesn’t even show any sign he heard him, Rhodey gently grabs his arm. “Look at me, kid.” 

Peter tears his eyes away from Tony to look at a smiling Rhodey. “There you go, Web-Head.” Peter perked up a bit at the nickname he hadn’t heard anyone use in a while. It was nice. Tony used to call him that, and now… Now Tony is standing in his hospital room. He snaps to look at him again, moving against the bed frame. “No, no, hey, look here. At me.” 

Peter’s nervous brown doe eyes met Rhodey’s. “Colonel Rhodes?” he asked, giving a small cough. Bucky grabbed a tissue from Bruce and handed it off to Peter. 

“You’re going to be just fine, kid.” He looked over his shoulder. “Give him some space.” With an exasperated look on his face, he rushes the others out of the room. Sam and Bucky don’t go far, though. Glued to the wall outside his room, they listen. Doctor Strange waits patiently for him to calm down. “They gave you a scare, huh?” 

Peter gave a small nod. “I… You didn’t tell anyone I was here, right?” 

“No one except the Avengers,” Rhodey confirmed. “You’re safe here.” 

“I can’t stay for long,” Peter said, starting to ramble now that his breath has caught up to him. “I can’t… It’s not safe here for me or for you. I…” 

“We’re the Avengers!” Bucky hissed from outside the room. Sam tried his best to pull him back from storming in. “This is literally the safest place you could be. I--” 

Sam smiled. “Sorry about that…” He grabs Bucky by the back of his shirt and drags him out of the room. 

Peter pales as the door slams shut behind them. “He is right,” Strange added as he typed something into the computer by his bed. “This is the safest place for you.” 

“Not to sound ungrateful, because I am,” Peter said, gesturing with his hands as he ranted, “but I have to go. Thank you for all your help.” 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Rhodey said, leaving no room for input. “Not until you’re better.” 

Peter was climbing out of the bed since they cut his restraints. “I’d really love to stay for tea, but I must get going,” he jokes, but a pulse of energy wraps around him and presses him against the table. 

“Do we need to handcuff you again?” Strange asked, binding him with his magic. 

Peter huffed but shook his head. Slowly, the energy eased, and Peter relaxed. “I really can’t stay for long.” 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Rhodey said. 

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed together. “How do you know about the thong?” His perplexed face stared back at Peter. “Oh, you didn’t… It was an expression.” 

Doctor Strange didn’t smile much, but there was a little half cocked grin on his face. “It’s only for a couple days,” he said, hanging an IV bag. “If not for your healing factor, it’d be a lot longer.” 

“A couple days?” he asked, exasperated. 

“Your malnourished,” he said. “Not to mention severely dehydrated. You haven’t slept in a while either, have you?” 

“In other words, you look like shit,” Rhodey said. 

There was a soft knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, the door pried open. Sam rolled a cart of food in with a meek Bucky behind him. 

Sam and Bucky were never big fans of Peter, but after the snap, after Tony left them, they were awfully nice to him. 

It was unsettling, to say the least. 

“Is that your professional opinion?” Peter asked, smirking. 

“So… a thong, huh?” Sam asked, teasing. 

“Hey, you wear a skintight suit then talk to me about it,” he snarled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Chafing is a nightmare.” 

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, pulling out a tray of food. He pushed it on his lap. 

“What the hell is this?” Peter asked, grimacing at the amount of vegetables on his plate. “What’s up with the chicken?” 

“Fried food is the last thing you need,” Strange said, grabbing his belongings. “Keep an eye on him; make sure he eats something. I’ll be back to check on him in an hour.” He slips through a portal and leaves the room. 

Peter picked up his fork and chomped into the piece of chicken. “Slowly,” Rhodey said, shaking his head. “You’re going to puke.” 

Peter pointed his fork at him. “Learned that the hard way,” he said, chomping on his fork. 

“You just had a major surgery,” Rhodey said, leaning against the wall. 

It was extremely difficult to eat at a slow pace with the hunger clawing at his stomach, but he did the best he could. “Does that aunt of yours not feed you enough?” Sam joked. 

Peter set his fork down. “She, uh, she does.” 

“Oh, so you’re a liar now, huh?” 

Peter went still, looking over to the far side of his room. Tony had sunk into the left side of his bed and thumped his fist against his forehead. 

And when he did, he felt it. 

“I’m not a liar,” Peter shot back, cradling his head. 

Sam and Bucky exchanged concerned looks with each other. “No one said you were,” Rhodey said. 

“Tell them, Pete.” Tony tapped his cheek again before slipping off the bed. He stepped across the room and stood directly in front of an oblivious Rhodey. “Tell them the truth.” 

“I… I sent her away,” Peter confessed. His hands went to search for a comforting warmth and found the blankets instead. He balled his fist and covered himself with it. Looking down at his lap, he gulped. “It was the safest thing for her.” 

“You’re homeless?” Sam asked. Peter nodded solemnly. 

“It’s better, like this. She got burned because of me,” he said. “But I’m okay. Really.” 

“The hell you are,” Bucky hissed. “You got drilled in the back and shot in the leg. And you  _ passed  _ out from not eating enough.” Bucky adjusted the plate on his lap. 

Glaring, Peter stabbed his last piece of chicken especially hard. He chomped on it and chewed it with his mouth open. Bucky sneered and poked him in the side. “Eat, shithead.” 

“Hmph,” he huffed. “Can I have a Twinkie?” 

“A Twinkie?” Bucky repeated, confused. 

“They’re these sugary things,” Sam explained. “A definite no.” Peter deflated and pushed his greens around on his plate. 

Tony made his way around the room to hover over his plate. Peter gawked at him as Tony picked up a pea and tossed it at Sam. “They’re giving you rabbit food? Really?” Tony picked up another pea and tossed it at Sam. 

Peter couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s so funny, Peter?” Sam asked, tilting his head in confusion. 

“Nothin’,” Peter said, covering his mouth. 

Bucky put a hand over his forehead. “Maybe he’s delirious from the fever,” Sam concluded. 

“Fever?” Peter asked. He looked to Tony, who shrugged. “Oh, right. A fever could make me see things. Right?” 

“I think you need to rest,” Bucky said, grabbing his head and dunking him further under the blanket. “If you don’t finish your peas, I’ll kill you.” 

“Get some sleep, Peter,” Rhodey added before the three of them slipped out of the room. Sam made sure to hit the lights on his way out. 

Tony grabbed the plate of peas and scraped it into a plant in the corner of the room. “So I’m hallucinating? From the fever.” 

Tony, ignoring him, tossed the plate back on the cart and flopped on the bed. He grabbed the remote and started flipping through the channels. 

“You saved me,” Peter said. 

“From what, the peas?” Tony joked. When he smiled, Peter smiled with him. 

“You feel real,” Peter said, scooting up in his bed. Tony turned around to face him. 

Peter’s quivering hand reached out to touch his cheek. When he brushed against warmth, he almost recoiled. “You even smell real.” 

“Yeah, well, you smell  _ real  _ bad. When’s the last time you showered?” 

“In the ocean when Oct tried to drown me,” Peter replied back. 

“Alright, smartass,” Tony said, flicking him in the forehead. Peter giggled. “Get some sleep.” 

Lately, Peter hadn’t been sleeping too well. Not only is sleeping in a tree very uncomfortable and bugs crawl all over you (Peter’s had enough of bites for a lifetime), but he has nightmares and insomnia. He rarely sleeps, and when he does, he wakes up screaming. Or, he wakes up because someone’s trying to kill him. 

He hasn’t felt safe in a while, but with Tony on the foot of his bed, it’s hard to be scared. 

So he flips over in his bed and he goes to sleep. 

When the Doctor returns an hour later with Sam and Bucky, they barge in. Thankfully, his Spidey Sense didn’t think of them as a threat. 

Peter was curled up in the bed with his fist balled in the sheets. He looked so calm, at peace. When he awoke, he looked pained. It was a nice change of pace. 

“Peter,” Strange started, but Sam cut him off. 

“Let him sleep,” he begged, and Strange sighed but was compliant. He managed to check over Peter’s vitals in his sleep. He’d managed from waking him for an impressive amount of time until his Spidey Suit in the corner started going off. 

Peter sat up in an instant, practically jumping for the alarm. “It’s Oct,” he hissed as Bucky held him to the bed. “It’s Oct. I gotta go.” 

“We’ll take care of it,” Sam promised. “You take care of yourself.” 

“You can’t,” Peter seethed, grabbing his hand. Sam, who was halfway out the door, was yanked back by his superhuman strength. “The city can’t pit itself against you too.” 

“He’s a villain,” he reasoned. 

Peter shook his head. “No, I am.” 

Sam missed that peaceful expression on his face. 

His Spidey Sense warned him, but there was too many arms, too many people. Bucky and Sam held him against the bed as the Doctor stuck a syringe in his arm. Peter was out in a matter of seconds. 

“Go take care of the threat,” he ordered, watching them storm out of the room. Strange turned to the resting Peter and threw him back under the bedsheets. He made sure to take the suit before he left the room. 

When Peter next awoke, he was being moved into a wheelchair. He felt panic at first, but there was a comforting hand against his back. “Mr. Stark?” he asked, craning his head. 

“Shh,” he hushed, wheeling Peter on the balcony. “I figured you’d want a change of scenery.” He parked Peter on the rooftop and sat next to him on a bench. “Beats the icky hospital room, right?” 

“How long have I been out?” 

Tony looks down at his watch. “A couple hours.” 

“What about Oct?” 

“He got away,” Tony replied back. “But before you go running, don’t.” 

Peter leaned back in his chair. “How the  _ hell  _ did he get away?” 

“He’s greasy,” Tony retorted. 

Peter, for once, couldn’t find it in him to care. It was hard to when the mentor he’s longed to see for so long is sitting right next to him. 

“Your daughter is the cutest thing,” Peter said suddenly. “I met her at the funeral. She’s really sweet. Smart, like you.” 

“How’s Pepper?” 

“She’s an amazing mother. She misses you.” 

“Well, no shit,” he replied, dragging a hand through his hair. “I wish I could see her again.” 

“Just get a fever, then you can see them whenever you want,” Peter said, snorting. 

Tony frowned. “You don’t have a fever, Pete.” He placed a hand against his forehead. “Doc cleared you earlier while you were asleep.” 

“So, what? I’m just crazy?” 

“You always were,” Tony teased back, earning a small punch in the arm. 

“Are you a ghost?” Peter asked. 

“I haven’t a  _ clue.  _ I’ll tell you what, though, if I am a ghost, you’re backing up the science to prove it.” 

“Maybe you’re just a ghost,” Peter said, resting his head on his hand. “Maybe ghosts are real. Nothing scientific about it.” 

“You traitor,” Tony snarled. “Seriously? Nothing ‘scientific.’ I can’t believe you. You’re no mentee of mine.” 

“Then go haunt Harley instead. He likes supernatural conspiracies more than I do,” he snickered. 

“I’m here for you, Pete.” 

A rosy pink blush dusted his cheeks. Peter’s day just got a little bit brighter, even as the sun went down. Man, this hospital thing is gonna  _ fuck  _ with his sleep schedule. 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark.” 

“I died, and you still call me that?” Tony breathed. 

Peter laughed. “Mr. Stark, I missed you.” He leaned over to rest his head on Tony’s shoulder. 

“Yeah. I know.” Peter closed his eyes. He was just so, so tired. “I missed you too, kid.” 

Two days later Peter’s released from the makeshift hospital. Walking on his feet is a weird adjustment, but he’s had way worse before. He finally gets to the rest of the new Avengers building, and he’s not dissing, but Tony could do way better. 

“I could do way better,” Tony confirmed over Peter’s shoulder as he walked down the hallway with the others. “I die, and they forget how to decorate?”

“The decorations aren’t  _ that  _ bad,” Peter replied, causing the Doctor to look at him strangely. 

“I didn’t realize you were picky on interior design,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows together. 

Peter recovered quickly by shaking it off. “Oh, I didn’t mean anything… It’s just, well, not very homely.” 

“You could make it more homely,” Sam offered. “Move in. We have the space.” 

Peter bit his lip. “I’m a fugitive, man. You can’t harbor me here.” 

“Just for a place to rest,” Bucky tried. “Clint could use a gaming buddy.” 

“Maybe after all this is fixed,” Peter promised half-heartedly. “Thank you for everything. Seriously.” 

He took his backpack and jumped off the balcony, swinging through the city. 

“Are we really going to let him go?” Rhodey asked, looking to his left and right. Everyone was quiet, uncomfortably so. 

“Yeah,” Bucky spat, walking off. “I guess we are.” 

“Where are you going?” he called. 

“To talk to the mayor and that news guy.” 

“He’s going to kill him,” Rhodey hissed. “Are you gonna stop him?”

Sam ran after him. “I think I’ll help him!” 

Strange and Rhodey exchanged looks. 

  
  


Tony ended up following Peter pretty much everywhere. It was a nice change of pace from the silence. Having someone to talk to and that someone being Mr. Stark? It was great. 

Peter tried his best not to think too much about it. In the day, he’d just be happy he was there. 

At night, when he was feeling sad the most, he’d cling to him. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked. 

He’s dead. 

He  _ died.  _ Peter watched him die. 

“Yeah, kid?” 

“Will you hold me?” 

When he wrapped his arms around him, it was hard to think anything except for this was real. It’s all that matters. 

It was bliss, actually. 

Peter didn’t mind being haunted. They’d tried to make sense of it. 

“Maybe it’s just jacked up,” Peter said, hitting the side of the EMF detector. He pressed it against Tony’s face and frowned. 

“Hey, we built that. Have some respect,” Tony snapped, grabbing the detector. “Maybe we wired it some more.” 

“Maybe I’m dead,” Peter countered. 

Tony frowned. “You’re not dying for a long time, kid.” 

Peter leaned back in his tree. “You died.” 

“So did you,” Tony shot back. “Then we brought you back. And I’ll do it again from the grave.” 

Death really is a funny thing. 

“Hey, your thing’s going off,” Tony said. 

Peter picked up his scanner and yelped. “Doc Oct!” he announced, swinging off. 

He caught up with him halfway through town. “What are you doing, Oct?” he yelled, swinging to keep up with him as he rampaged. 

“Parker,” he growled through gritted teeth. “I was looking for you.” 

“Aw, how sweet,” he cooed. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t drill me in the back, though.” 

“Parker,” he said, pulling to a stop. “Can we talk?” 

Talking seemed like a bad idea. He could hear Tony yelling at him to say no because listening to the villain’s tragic backstory is almost always a ploy. 

Peter says yes. 

“Your blood… There’s something weird with it.” 

“You don’t say?” Peter asked, cocking his head. 

Doctor Octavious tried to hold himself back. “You little… Aside from your powers.” Peter solemned. “I want to run some more tests.” 

“Like hell you will,” Peter said, jumping to his feet. 

“Parker, you--” 

“NYPD! Hands in the air!” a cop yelled. “Working with Octavious now?” 

Peter lowered himself into a fighting stance. “Talk over, Oct.” 

“Listen to me,” he begged as Peter gave him a kick across the face. He sent Oct flying to land in the middle of the street. Peter tried to web him, but the cops were already on the scene. He jumped up to get higher ground to dodge the bullets. “Parker--!” He screamed as a bullet passed through his chest armor. 

Peter tried to help him, but he didn’t want the police thinking he was working with him. Still, Peter tried his best to get to him. 

“You’re going to kill him!” Peter yelled, running to him. “He’s trapped! Just let me take off his armor, and--” A bullet flew past Peter and he moved out of the way. Peter scrambled to keep him from dying. 

No one deserved that. Not even him. 

“Parker…” 

“It’s Spider-Man,” he corrected, going to his side. Peter puts pressure on the spot his armor got shot off because of the rapid fire bullets. “Don’t die here, Otto.” 

“I’m dying, anyways,” he said. “I just wanted to take you down with me.” 

Peter laughed humorlessly. “Not yet, Otto. It’s not your time.” 

“But it is yours…” he trailed off, sputtering weakly. “I have a chronic medical condition. I don’t have much left.” Peter grabbed his hand. It was the least he could do. “But… neither do you.” 

Peter stiffened. “It’ll take more than a couple bullet wounds to kill me.” 

“Maybe so…” A wicked smile spread across his lips. Peter didn’t let go. “But the cancer will get to you first.” 

Peter was stunned as the body went limp. “Otto?” he asked, shaking him. “Otto?” 

Looking at the police behind him, he stood up. “You did this. This is on you.” 

Peter’s a fool, mourning the death of a man who tried to kill him. Yet, here he is, throwing himself a pity party. 

Peter tracks Doctor Octavious’s makeshift lab down. It takes him a day, but he manages through it with one of his funny little robots. 

He breaks through the lab to find Tony inside. “This guy was a maniac,” he says, sifting through his work. “Smart, though. Not as smart as me, but…” 

“He was,” Peter agreed, making his way to the lab where his blood sample was standing. He grabbed the pages of notes and flipped through them. “So it’s real, then. I have cancer.” 

“You do,” Tony confirmed. 

Peter fell into a chair with the notebook in hand. “I… I have cancer,” he repeated. He ran a finger through his hair. “I’m going to die before I ever see Aunt May again.” 

“We’ll fight this,” Tony said, striding across the lab. He leaned over the chair to press a kiss to his forehead. “We will.” 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter mumbled, teary eyed. 

Tony, silently, leaned over him to grab a pair of scissors. “Mr. Stark? What’re you doing?” 

“Your hair’s too long,” he said, pulling some of the hair out of his face. “I’m fixing it.” 

“Mr. Stark?” he asked, blinking. 

“Stay still, shithead,” he grumbled, putting a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“If I have cancer, it’ll just fall out, anyways,” he huffed. 

“It’s not falling out yet,” he retorted, snipping off the ends of his hair. “You’re starting to look like Barnes. I don’t like it.” 

“It will soon,” he countered, flipping through the pages. “Doc wasn’t lying.” 

“You’re not dying from this cancer,” Tony said with no room for argument. He continued snipping off his hair until it was as short as Tony’s. “You’re surviving this.” 

“It’s okay, Mr. Stark.” 

Peter climbed out of the chair, running his hands through his hair before slipping on his mask. “If I’m going to die, I’m spending the last of my days with May.” 

“Peter, you can’t give up that easily. You don’t even know your chances.” 

“I want to die like you did,” Peter said. “You got to die with Pepper. I want that, too, Mr. Stark. I want to die with May.” 

“You’re not dying just like that!” Tony yelled, grabbing his arm. “You’re not leaving this so easily.” 

Peter sniffed. “You did.” 

“Peter…” 

“You  _ did!  _ You died, and you abandoned me! You died, and now I’m going to die, and I’m going to do it alone. What’s May going to do after I go?” 

“Peter, you have to fight it. You have to.” 

“You died,” he said, storming out of the lab, leaving him alone. 

Peter went on patrol because what the hell else is he supposed to do? He could go and see May, but he doesn’t even know how to find her. If he did, what would he tell her? 

Peter walks the city. It’s quiet tonight. Maybe the death of Otto kept petty criminals at bay. 

Peter’s walking the streets when he runs into a familiar face. 

“Peter?” 

Peter stopped in his tracks. “Flash,” he greeted unkindly. 

“Oh, Peter… You, I, I…” 

“It’s okay, Flash. I forgive you.” He rolled his eyes. “You didn’t think a puny kid like me could be Spider-Man.” 

Flash’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “Peter, no, I’m sorry about… I’m sorry about all this. You didn’t deserve that.” 

“Save it, Flash. I know you’re happy to have taken my spot on the team,” he said. 

“Peter, no, I--” 

“It’s a joke, Flash,” Peter said, ripping off his mask to show his tired face and an even more tired smile. “I’m kidding.” 

Flash shifted uncomfortably. “I’m actually team captain now, believe it or not. After our three smartest kids left…” Peter’s smile fell. “It’s quiet without you three.” 

“They’ll be back soon,” Peter promised, nodding. “They will.” 

“And you?” Flash asked. 

Peter scoffed. “Flash, I…” Fuck it. If he’s the one breathing person he’ll tell, it’d be Flash. No one would believe him. “I have cancer.” 

“What?” he asked. 

“Yup, cancer,” he said, throwing up his hands awkwardly. “It’s pretty cute. Can’t even go to a hospital about it, either.” 

“I’m so sorry, Peter.”

“I don’t even know how to face, May. Not to mention if I go see her to  _ die,  _ I’ll be putting her at risk. What’s a man gotta do to die in peace?” 

“Can’t you go through chemo or something?” Flash suggested. “I’m no doctor, but there’s gotta be something you can do.” 

“That’d require a doctor who won’t kill me.” 

Oh. 

Peter was so stupid. 

“Flash, you’re a genius!” Peter said, running off. 

Flash blinked a couple times before smirking to himself. “Did anyone hear that? Spider-Man just called me a genius!” 

Peter couldn’t stop running. He crawled up the top of the Avengers building and stormed in inside. He didn’t stop until he reached everyone in the living room. “Where’s the Doctor?” he asked, panting. “Where’s Strange?” 

“Whoa, Peter, slow down,” Scott called from the couch. “Strange is in his house.” 

“Call him,” he hissed. As if on cue, a portal opened and Strange climbed through. 

“Don’t tell me you got shot again,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “What’s wrong with you this time?” 

Peter huffed before regaining his breath. “I… I hit my head on patrol. Think I got a bad concussion.” 

“Of course you did,” he sighed. “Let’s get you in for a CT scan.” 

“Alright, Doc,” he said, waddling behind him. As soon as he was out of earshot from the nosy heroes, he jumped in front of Strange. “So, here’s the thing.” 

“I’m sorry, Peter,” he said, shaking his head. 

Peter frowned. “I haven’t even told you yet.” 

He opened a portal into an empty MRI room. “I already know,” he said. “I don’t need the time stone to tell me something’s wrong.” 

Peter bit his lip. “Yeah.” 

“Lay down.” He patted the bed. Peter hopped up on it. “Stay really still. It’ll be a bit loud.” 

Oh, lovely, Peter’s favorite thing. 

The MRI seems like it takes forever, but it’s over after a couple minutes. The Doctor opens another portal and takes him back home. “My doctor friend will have the results send as soon as she gets them,” he promised. “But you should take it easy.” 

“It’s just cancer, Doc. Maybe we caught it early.” A hacking fit took over him and he pulled away from his hands to show the blood. “Or maybe not.” 

“Stark did not give his life for you to die,” he said, but Peter was shaking his head. “You need to be cautious. Any strenuous activity could be harmful for you.”

“Mr. Stark didn’t die for me.” He laughed. “He died to save the world. That’s kind of what he does, you know? Save the world over and over again only for it to spit in his face.” 

“I don’t want to be the one to tell your aunt her nephew is dead,” he spat. 

Peter looked over his shoulder. “Call me when you get the results back.” 

He didn’t get the call. 

During a fight gone south, Bucky Barnes jumped out of absolute nowhere to save his ass. Not that he needed saving, that is. 

“I’ve never been a big fan of his,” Tony says from the sidelines. He’s chewing on a pack of gummies. “But he’s growing on me.” 

Peter gave him a dark look as Sam landed with a thud. “Really, Buck? Can’t save any for me?” 

“Peter couldn’t take much more,” he countered. 

“Excuse me?” he barked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I had it handled.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “That’s the most reckless you’ve been all week.” 

“You’ve been watching me all week?” Peter hissed. “Wait… Like, how much…?” 

Bucky grinned. “Don’t worry. We won’t tell anyone.”

“Listen, it was a whole misunderstanding. It’s not like I can stroll in a store to use the restroom!” 

Bucky’s grin dropped. “What are you talking about?” 

Peter narrowed his eyes. “What are  _ you  _ talking about?” 

“Alright then,” Sam said, snickering. “As much as I’d love to get to the bottom of that, Stephen needs to see you.” 

“Right.” 

When he walked back through the facility, he was practically jumped on by Shuri. “Hello, Peter!” she greeted, engulfing him in a hug. “How are you?” 

“Princess Shuri!” he greeted, hugging her back. “I’m… good.” 

She tsked. “What’s wrong with you now?”

“Nothing’s ever wrong with me,” he said, and she made a face. 

“Are you really lying to me?” she asked, jabbing him in the side. 

“Ow!” he hissed, shrinking back. 

“I’ve watched you take hits worse than that all week,” Bucky remarked, shaking his head. “Can’t hurt that bad.” 

“Peter’s just ticklish,” Shuri said, grinning. 

“No, no, I’m not!” he shrieked back with a pained expression. 

“Peter,” Stephen barked, stepping into the room, “I need to talk to you.” Shuri didn’t let go. “Princess?” 

She let go and shot him a dirty look. “Let him have some fun before you drop a bunch of shitty news on him.” 

“I’ve had enough fun,” Peter said, grabbing her hands. “No more, please, Shuri.” 

Shuri grinned. “For now.” 

He walked off with Strange into a private room. 

Sam and Bucky stared incredulously at Shuri, who shrugged. “In my home you’d be arrested for child neglect.” She walked through the set of doors, leaving them in stunned silence. 

“She doesn’t mean it,” T’Challa said from behind them. “We wouldn’t actually arrest you.” 

Sam lets out a nervous laugh and punches Bucky slightly. “I figured.” 

“But that isn’t to say you wouldn’t be punished,” he said, glaring at them. “Would it kill you to give that boy a hug?” 

“It’s not like he’s our kid,” Sam protested.

“Yeah,” Bucky huffed. “He has an aunt.” 

“The aunt Shuri tells me he hasn’t seen in a month? Or Stark’s?” They stiffened. “He’s one of us. An Avenger. That makes us liable for him.” He threw open the doors and walked through them. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t push him out of my vagina,” Bucky grumbled. 

“He’s not our kid,” Sam added. 

They nodded in agreement. 

“Except, he totally is,” they said in complete unison with a heavy sigh on the end. 

  
  


Peter stumbled into the private room and sunk into a seat next to Strange. Strange was always hard to read, but right now, the hurt on his face was barely masked. 

Peter chuckled. “That bad, huh?” 

He stiffened. As a doctor, he used to give this kind of news all the time. 

It’s harder when you know the kid. Especially this one. 

“You have metastatic melanoma.” Like a bomb, Stephen dropped the x rays in his hand. “In your brain, in your liver, in your skin.” 

Peter leaned back in his chair. After a minute, he asked, “How long do I have left?” 

“A month at most,” he replied. “I’m sorry, Peter.” 

“A month,” he repeated. He buried his face in his hands. “Is it operable?” 

“It’s too risky. The chances are slim.” 

“What are they?” Peter stood out of his chair and jabbed his finger into his chest. “My chances?” 

“Peter--”

“Tell me.” 

He sighed. “Five percent.” 

Peter didn’t really know how to react to that. Nobody does, really. 

“Well, bye, Doc. Thanks for your help.” He hopped off the chair and made his way to the door. 

Strange let out a strangled gasp. “Peter, I don’t think you realize the severity of the situation.” 

He stopped and gave him a cold look. “You don’t think I know? You don’t think I am painfully aware of the fact that I’m going to die with the entire world thinking I’m a villain? That if I was going to die anyways, I could’ve done the snap. That Mr. Stark didn’t have to die?” 

“You should take this time to be with your family.” 

Peter smiled wryly. “My family? You mean, my aunt that I put in danger? The one I can’t even see?” 

“She’ll be safe here, Peter. You can--” 

“No. After I die, she’ll… She doesn’t have to know.” Peter lit up as if everything was clear to him now. “She won’t have to know.” 

“You need to be there with her. You can’t be alone during this.” 

“No offense, Doc, but I’ve been alone for a month now, and I’ve been doing  _ just  _ fine.” With one last look, he pushed the door open and was out of the building in no time. 

“Fine?” he muttered to himself, storming out of the room. “Fine? He almost dies, and he thinks he’s fine?” 

Rhodey caught him as he was storming out of the lab. “Stephen? What’s wrong?” 

“That kid is going to kill himself,” he seethed. “I need eyes on him. I need everyone on this damn team to watch him. 24/7.” 

“What happened this time?” 

Stephen shook his head. “Patient confidentiality. I can’t say anything.” 

Rhodey sighed, leaning against the wall in defeat. “Technically, you’re not his doctor.” 

“Keep an eye on him, Rhodes. For Stark’s sake.” 

Rhodey promised, and he did. He made sure to check on him through the cameras every so often. He knew his location every hour of the day. 

He didn’t understand Stark’s attachment to the kid at first. After he died in the blip, Peter was mourned by Tony. But Rhodey had never gotten the chance to meet him by then. 

Until Tony died for him, for the world. He met him for the first time on the field and he watched him say goodbye. 

He knew the kid must’ve been important to him from the look in his eyes, but he didn’t get it. 

He never got it until he truly met the kid and talked to him at the funeral. He was quiet, then; he was pulled away from almost everyone there. 

After the service, Rhodey has slipped outside for some air when he heard saw them — Morgan and Peter. 

They sat on the lake’s edge. Both were ruining their nice attire, but neither seemed to care. 

He saw him talk, lighting up at the mini version of him. The way he talked reminded him so much of Tony. He was smart and selfless, and he looked so much like him when he smiled. 

He was a good kid. 

Now, though, this kid is kinda crazy. He talks to himself a lot, but Rhodey tries not to think too much about it. He probably would too if he had no one to talk to. 

Currently, Peter is sewing up a cut on his leg. Rhodey really wants to approach him, but all his past attempts were short-lived. He’s fast and doesn’t get tired. 

When he collapses in a fight, Rhodey will take him. He’ll leave him to rest in a bed in the new facility. He makes sure the room is stocked with food and clothes, whatever he needs. Peter leaves as soon as he wakes up, everytime. He doesn’t stick around. 

He spends most of his time in the suit. Sleeps in it, even. 

He rarely eats. 

New York has pitted against him, but occasionally, very rarely, someone will donate something to him. 

Dinner (if you can call it that when it’s your first meal of the day) tonight is an apple. It’s rotten, and there’s worms in it, but it’s the best he has. 

He bites into it while stitching his leg. “I never liked the skin,” he complains, but he swallows it anyways. 

“I’m sorry; what exactly are you doing?” Tony sighed, picking up the needle. Peter leaned back on the bench and set his leg on his lap. “These sutures are terrible. Who taught you this?” 

“Home ec in the sixth grade,” he replied. “I’d like to see you do better.” 

“I have done better on many occasions,” he said, finishing it for him. “You just eat your poisnous apple and be quiet.” 

“It’s not poisinous,” he snarled. He takes a cautious sniff. Okay, maybe it is. Sighing, he tosses it on the ground. “What I wouldn’t do for some of May’s cooking.” 

“Your aunt is a terrible cook,” Tony scoffed. 

“Yeah, but…” Peter trailed off, resting his head on his hands. “I miss her. I don’t know what she’s going to do after I’m gone.” 

“Then don’t go,” Tony said simply. “Get the surgery.” 

Peter scoffed. “I have a 5% chance of surviving surgery. It’s over for me.” 

“Kid, we had a one in fourteen million, six hundred and fifth chance of winning. And we did.” 

Slowly, Peter sat up. He took his leg back from Tony. “You’re crazy.” 

“I’m right.” 

“He said I have a month.” 

“The longer you wait, the worse it will get. Your hair will fall out, and you’ll get really sick. You won’t be able to be Spider-Man.” 

“I’m already sick,” Peter replied, biting his hand. “What if… the surgery is a mistake? What if I die on that table and people die because I’m not there to save them?” 

“Peter, if you continue living at this rate, you’ll die a lot sooner than a month.” 

Peter ignores Tony, but he doesn’t forget what he says. For the next few days, that conversation is all he can think about. 

After a fight gone bad, really, really bad, he lays on the ground. With shaky fingers, he presses a button on his watch. 

It only takes a minute for someone to grab him and take him to Strange. 

“I want the surgery,” he said, collapsing in the bed. He grabs on to Strange’s cloak and pulls him close. 

“No. I refuse to do a surgery where you have no chance of surviving. It’s murder.” 

“I have five percent,” he said. 

Strange shook his head. “Peter, I can’t. It’s…” 

“You have to. Please, Doctor Strange, I can’t die. I can’t leave my aunt. This city needs you.” 

Stephen huffed. “You’re in no condition for an operation. You’re malnourished severly. If I was to do it, you’d have to be recovered and well-fed.” A lightbulb popped above his head. Literally. Peter really is losing it. “If you live here for a week, I’ll operate.” 

“Really?” he asked. “Oh my god, thank you! Thank you!” He smiled and went to wrap him in a hug, which he did not reciprocate. 

“Don’t thank me for killing you.” 

Peter’s residence was kept as quiet as it could be. The only one who knew he was there was Strange himself. 

After a week of getting him into a somewhat operable condition, he was ready. 

He moved Peter into the operating room he’d prepared. Since he was somewhat out of practice, he had two surgeons accompany him as well as a team of nurses. Better to be prepared. 

“Ready, Peter?” he asked, moving the mask to put him over. 

“Hold on, he’s shaking,” one of the doctors cried, moving to hold his hand. “It’s okay, kiddo. It’s okay.” 

“Claire,” Strange said, narrowing his eyes. “We need to get started.” 

“He needs to be hopeful, or it won’t work,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Want me to call anyone before you go under?” 

“I don’t have anyone,” Peter said, thinking of May and the long letter he left for her in case things go wrong. 

A hand squeezed his other hand, and he looked over to see Tony. “Actually, can I have a minute? Alone?” 

Claire nodded and ushered the rest of the team outside of the lab. 

“Hey, look at me,” Tony said, cupping the side of Peter’s face so he had to look up at him. “I died for you, you little shit. There’s no way you’re dying on this damn table.” 

Peter didn’t expect less from Tony himself. He laughed. “No promises, Mr. Stark.” 

“No, no, you’re surviving this. I need to know you will.” 

“Maybe I’d have more hope if you weren’t talking to me like this is the last time you’ll see me.” Tony’s smile dropped. “Mr. Stark?” 

“When Doc Mcstuffins removes your tumor, I go with it.” 

Peter’s face fell. “You… You can’t. I don’t want you to go,” he said, shaking his head. He leaned forward to grab at him. “Tony, not again. Please, not again.” 

“Shh,” he hushed, grabbing him tightly. “You’ll be okay without me. But May, she will not. So you have to survive for your hot aunt, okay?” 

Peter laughed, wiping his face. “You know she’s dating Happy now, right? It’s so weird…” 

“Alright, so survive for your new step dad.” 

Peter cringed and hit Tony lightly. “Ew, don’t say that.” 

Tony shrugged, pinching his cheek. “Look at you, all smiley. That’s my Peter. You’re my strong boy.” He pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

“Yeah, stronger than you,” he said, sticking his tongue out. Tony rolled his eyes and pushed him down on the table. “Where will you go?” 

Tony hesitated. “Don’t worry about it, Pete. Just focus on surviving.” 

The door opened, and Claire peeked her head in. “Alright, Peter, ready to get started?” 

Peter nodded and the nurse walked up, grabbing the mask to put Peter under. 

With one last look to Tony, Peter’s world faded to black. 

When Peter awoke, he was tired. His eyelids were heavy. His body ached. 

“Tony…?” he asked, searching his room, but it was empty. “Hello?” He moved, hitting a call button, and in a moment, Bucky was in his room. 

“You’re awake,” he seethed, running to his side. “Oh my god, you’re awake.” 

Peter coughed, clearing his throat. “Water?” he managed, and Sam was running in the room with a cold bottle. 

“You’re awake,” Sam said, grinning. 

“Who told you?” he asked after chugging half of the bottle. “Strange?” 

“He told us you died,” Rhodey said from the doorway. “That you weren’t going to wake up. But, here you are. A week later.” 

“I’ve been out for a week?” he exclaimed. “Is that… bad?” 

Strange, the last one to stumble in, carried a binder with you. “You were still malnourished when we started the precedure. We didn’t really expect much, but…” Peter’s face fell as he continued. “We were able to remove all of the METs. Congratulations, Peter.” 

“Wait, you’re like serious? I’m cancer free?” 

“No, not exactly. You still have to go under treatments to make sure no more pop up.” 

Bucky punched him in the arm. “But, yeah, you’re relatively safe.” 

Peter’s face broke out into a grin. “That’s… That’s amazing. Thank you, Doctor. I… I don’t know what to say.” 

“I do,” he said. “You will be living here until your ban is lifted, which it should be in just a couple of hours. Pepper is fighting in court for you right now, actually.” 

“Mrs. Stark?” he asked, gaping. “But she…” 

“And she’s winning,” Rhodey added. “The police won’t be allowed to shoot at you, if she wins. It’s good news. May could come home.” 

Peter fell back in his bed. “This is… a lot of good news all at once.” 

Bucky snorted. “After all you’ve been through, you had it coming.” 

“Oh, one last thing,” Sam said, looking down the hallway. “Last one, I promise.” 

“More? There’s more?” he asked, gaping. “How can there be--?” 

Peter stopped abruptly when May was ushered into the room with Pepper by her side. 

May had a hand over her mouth. Peter suddenly didn’t know how to speak. 

“Oh, yeah, she actually won like two days ago?” Rhodey said. 

May stifled a sob as she wrapped Peter in a hug. 

“Aunt May…!” he exclaimed at last, burying his head into her shoulder. The tears pooled at his eyes and he grabbed on. 

He’s pretty sure he’d never let go again. They stayed like that for a couple of hours. She held him while he cried, while she cried. 

After a week, things were back to normal. May bought a house near the Avengers facility. Peter enrolled into school again and before he knew it, he was normal again. 

  
  


_ A Year Later _

“Peter!” MJ exclaimed, running into his arms to give him a kiss on the cheek. 

“Peter!” Ned exclaimed, running directly after her to also jump into his arms and give him a kiss. 

“Guys, chill. It’s only been a week since I’ve seen you,” he said, letting go. He laughs, though, rubbing his cheeks. “I’m glad to see you too.” 

They stood in the doorway of Peter’s new home where May had stuck up graduation stickers on every single wall. 

“You’re so early, though. No one else is…” Peter led them into the dark living room. 

The lights flickered on suddenly, and Aunt May jumped out. “Surprise!” In a scramble, the lights flickered on, and the rest of the avengers popped up one by one. 

“Buck, you were supposed to hit the lights!” Sam hissed, slapping him in the back of the head. 

“Huh? No, you were…” 

Stunned, Peter looked around. “Guys, I… What?” 

“Congratulations, kid,” Happy said, slapping him on the back. “I’m proud of you.” 

“Thanks, Hap,” he said, squinting at his kind of step-dad. “Thank you all… Really, for everything.” 

Slowly and surely, life turned back to normal. 

Peter got his girlfriend and best friend back, his aunt, and a new extended family which he wasn’t really prepared for. 

He climbed into his bed that night with a big smile on his face. 

Despite it being summer now, a breeze bristled through his room. Peter stirred in his bed and raised his wrist to close his window. 

When he sat up, he had to blink. He rubbed his eyes, but he couldn’t believe it. 

“Congratulations, kid.” 

Sure enough, at his window was the silhouete of Tony Stark. 

“You died, Tony.,” he rasped, cradling his head. “You left with the tumor!” 

As the realization set it, Peter covered his mouth. 

May ran in at the yelling. “Peter, what’s wrong?” she asked, sinking into the bed beside him. 

Peter glared at Tony by his window. “Bad dream,” he said through gritted teeth. 

As May consoled him, Peter looked after the ghostly figure in his bedroom. 

_ Blessings in disguises aren’t always blessings. Sometimes, they’re curses dressed up in a dead mentor’s body.  _

**Author's Note:**

> i apologize to all my normal readers who usually expect shameless fluff from me,,, hope u enjoed!! this took me two weeks plus forever of planning, so i hope u enjoy!!!
> 
> if this isn’t accurate, I’m sorry I did my best honest to God. 
> 
> But comment or kudos if u enjoyed and maybe check some of my other more fluffy works if u need a pick me up lmao!! or u can send some hate mail to @/softdadironman if u want lol


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